


Starlight on Feathers

by LiraelClayr007



Series: NaPoWriMo 2020 [8]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (but hates the thought of being "good" hahaha), Aziraphale Takes Care of Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff, M/M, Poetry, Smut, and crowley wants to be good, love and affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23551621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiraelClayr007/pseuds/LiraelClayr007
Summary: Crowley’s laid out on the bedlike a gift, black featherson black sheets, pale skinglowingin the moonlight.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: NaPoWriMo 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686106
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Starlight on Feathers

i.

–Aziraphale–

_Be still for me, my dear?_

Crowley’s laid out on the bed  
like a gift, black feathers  
on black sheets, pale skin  
glowing  
in the moonlight.  
 _Go_  
 _slow,_  
he gasps,  
begs,  
between breaths  
he doesn’t need.  
 _Please._

Aziraphale can go slow.  
He can move like a glacier,  
like creeping lava,  
as Crowley’s skin  
radiates with  
ice and fire  
in turns. As Aziraphale’s hand  
creeps up Crowley’s thigh  
his yellow eyes  
roll back in his head  
and his skin flushes  
a lovely shade of rose,  
soft against his red,  
red hair.  
Aziraphale lives  
to take him apart,  
to see his defenses fall  
one  
by  
one.  
He moves a little more,  
holding back a smirk  
at the needy noises  
from his love.

ii. 

–Crowley–

His hands fist  
in the sheets.

He wants to buck,  
to thrust up into his angel’s

touch, but Aziraphale  
asked him not to move.

Nearly every moment  
of his existence he’s lived to break

the rules, but for Aziraphale  
he wants to be good.

He represses a shudder.  
Even the thought stings,

but he can’t help it.  
For Aziraphale, he holds himself

still.

iii. 

–Aziraphale–

He teases, drinking in the sounds,  
the twitches,  
the aching need  
seeping  
from Crowley’s every pore.  
He nips at Crowley’s throat,  
his chest, his hips. The demon  
keens.

He’s dancing on a razor’s edge,  
Aziraphale knows he can’t go on  
teasing for long. There’s a relieved  
sort of sob when he begins to finger  
him open; for his fingers Crowley opens  
like a flower to the sun,  
he’s coming undone  
even before Aziraphale can properly  
enter him.

And when he does–  
when he’s above Crowley and  
inside him and  
fully surrounded by him all at once–  
it’s like being home.  
It’s the coolness of starlight on feathers,  
and Crowley’s strangled cry  
is a blanket  
he wants to wrap around them both  
and hold onto for all eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> NaPoWriMo Day 8
> 
> prompts: ineffable husbands and coming undone


End file.
